Cheating Death
by thatonethesmartone
Summary: Formerly known as "Too Many Coats"  The Doctor, immediately after the events of Journey's End, crashes into a parallel universe and finds himself with pre-Reichenbach Sherlock and John. No slash. Please review.
1. A Crash

((I do not own the shows _Sherlock_, _Doctor Who_, or any of the characters taken from them.))

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_22:41  
><em>_Come to the flat.  
><em>_SH_

_TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON  
><em>_22:42  
><em>_why_

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_22:42  
><em>_Fake police box just crashed through the window. Man fell out.  
><em>_SH_

_TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON  
><em>_22:43  
><em>_right sherlock if youre just going to make up smthg at least make it believable_

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_22:44  
><em>_Hurry up.  
><em>_SH_

John arrived just over five minutes later, more than a little irritated. Climbing the stairs, he found the situation as it had been described: a big, blue, wooden box proclaiming "POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX" was sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by smoke and the scattered glass from the window. A thin young man in a light blue shirt and tie was lying on his back on the floor, coughing.

John crouched down near him, waving the smoke away with his arm. "You alright?" he asked.

The man sat up with a start, then dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "Never … semi-sentient time ship … 'crash for the night'," he muttered, then looking up at John and with a much cheerier voice, "I'm fine, honestly. Just hit my head a time or two, and a bit of smoke in the lungs. I'm the Doctor, by the way. And you are?"

"Dr. J–" "John, sweep up the glass, if you would." Sherlock emerged from behind the box with his figuring-things-out look on, signaling that he'd like a turn with the visitor. John shot a look which Sherlock knew meant "go easy on this one" – a request that he knew would never be heeded – as he got up.

Sherlock bent down until he was staring directly into the Doctor's face, taking in every little detail of the strange visitor. _Appearance says mid-twenties, eyes say much older. Tries not to show negative emotion, but eyes show bitter guilt; has been such for a while, but aggravated recently. Stood in the rain_ — he reached out and wet his index finger on the man's damp hair, then sniffed and licked it — _London rain, less than thirty minutes ago —from a parallel universe; shirt-front wet, was wearing a suitjacket; did not protect himself from the rain; was preoccupied. Double pulse in neck; two hearts, not human, although is accustomed to human company, based on dress and language._

Sherlock stood up. "Doctor. You're an alien time traveler from a parallel universe, and this box is your ship, disguised to look vaguely like a 1960's phone box. May I go inside?"

The Doctor — his expression, Sherlock noted, now registering amazement, skepticism and – fear? — got up and opened the door, allowing Sherlock in. He walked slowly around the central console, pulling out a pocket magnifying glass to examine the different controls. _Designed for six pilots, but he travels alone; five sets of human fingerprints, recent, plus at least two more on the railings; close friends, otherwise wouldn't have let them, untrained, work the controls; none here now. Traces of tears at one place; she? definitely she — didn't want to leave, but he made her anyway – _Sherlock frowned, remembering the bitter guilt and loneliness he had seen in the visitor's eyes. Suddenly feeling slightly out of his depth, something he didn't feel very often, he returned to the doors, from where he knew the Doctor was watching.

The Doctor felt uneasy around this man. This man could figure out that he was from a parallel universe just by tasting the rainwater in his hair. _That's brilliant, that's – that's proper genius, there._ But now he had let him into his TARDIS, and who knows what he'd find in there."Who are you?" he asked, turning to face the stranger.

John had just finished hanging one of Mrs. Hudson's quilts over the open window when the Doctor tackled him from behind and spun him around, madly searching his eyes and face. "He's – Sherlock Hol – Wait, _John – _John _Watson_? _The_ John Watson? But you're not – you're not real, you're fictional!—"

"Do I look fictional?" John retorted, folding his arms as if he'd been insulted. "And how do you know my name? Have you been reading the blog?"

The Doctor stepped back, moving his hand to the nape of his neck as he spit back out the word he'd just heard. "_Blog_? What? No. No – What _year_ is this?"

"2011. _How_ do you not know that? What are you on about?"

"John. He's an time-traveler from a parallel universe. Obviously, since he landed here by accident, he might not know the date," Sherlock put in.

"I've — missed something, haven't I."

"Hang on, hang on. Is this – 221B Baker Street then?" Neither John nor Sherlock had any chance to reply, as the Doctor was already leaping down the stairs to the front door. Following, they found him gaping around, bewildered, at the rest of the street, twirling on the sidewalk, his long coat — where'd the coat come from? John wondered — swinging, both hands to his head now —

The Doctor came back to the door, where Sherlock and John were both staring at him like he was some sort of madman. There was something very, very not right about this. _Sherlock Holmes doesn't exist. He was made up by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the 19__th__ century. Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character. Sherlock... _He grabbed Sherlock by the arm, searching his eyes just like Sherlock had done to him not ten minutes earlier.

_He's not pretending. He's – well, he is definitely clever, he just told me all about my life, my ship, and my friends _— he winced slightly, remembering the ease and the apathy with which Sherlock had just told him what he had figured out about Donna – _how did he know about Donna? That was only two or three hours ago, haven't even talked to anyone since then – well, Wilfred and her mother, but they're hardly ones to go talking to parallel-world Sherlock Holmes actors – ha! no, he is really that clever – is he? he can't be, no human should have tha—_

"Doctor?" John's voice shook him out of his musings. Realizing how hard he was gripping Sherlock's arm and how intense his stare must be, he shook his head and let go. "Sorry. Train of thought got away from me there. Um, yes. No, you do appear to be very real. Uh, do you perchance have a computer I could use for a moment? Need to look something up."

Five minutes later, the Doctor, sitting in John's chair, had found no online evidence whatsoever of Arthur Conan Doyle, his Holmes books, or any other Sherlock Holmes besides the one who was standing over his shoulder, watching in puzzled fascination as he sonicked the laptop to get results faster. John had gone to bed, evidently not wanting to let on that he was completely baffled and slightly irritated by the whole thing, especially since Sherlock seemed to be completely unfazed and probably, knowing him, even enjoying it.

The Doctor stood finally, stretching his lanky frame. He knew he had to go – the hole he'd fallen through into this universe probably couldn't last long, and he didn't want to get mixed up in the affairs of a parallel world like he had last time. "I suppose I'll be off now, um, get the TARDIS out of your flat and out of this universe, it's really not good for her, although I did stock up on power cells because last time I was almost completely stranded —"

"Take me with you." Sherlock's voice was calm but determined.

"— I can't." The Doctor, knowing he would have had to make this decision, still hated the words the very second after they had left his lips. But he couldn't, he just couldn't let himself risk losing anyone else, especially not Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes, you can." Sherlock, his eyes never leaving the Doctor, reached down to his pocket and pulled out a small object. The Doctor glanced down at it curiously, then his eyes widened and darted back up to Sherlock, who had let himself crack a small, almost mischievous smile. A Cheshire-cat-like grin slowly spread over the Doctor's face. _Sherlock Holmes, you brilliant, impossible man! _


	2. A Surprise

((AN: Thanks to the several people who've read/reviewed/subscribed to this story already! I hadn't expected it to get much attention. Again, I don't own any of the characters or concepts from the shows _Doctor Who _or _Sherlock_.))

_TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON  
><em>_04:09  
><em>_sherlock where the BLOODY HELL AM I AND WHY AM I STRAPPED INTO MY BED_

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_04:10  
><em>_This is the Doctor. Sherlock's in the library. He left his phone here. I'll come get you out._

_TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON  
><em>_04:10  
><em>_WHAT IS GOING ON_

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_04:11  
><em>_You're in the TARDIS, my spaceship, the one that crashed into your flat._

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_04:11  
><em>_I materialized around your bed. Strapping you in was Sherlock's idea._

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_04:12  
><em>_Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't wake up before now. Traveling between universes is extremely turbulent._

_TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON  
><em>_04:12  
><em>_WHAT_

"Blimey, he did say you were going to be difficult," remarked the Doctor, unstrapping the fuming John from his bed. It wasn't easy, considering the TARDIS had materialized him into the wardrobe, right underneath a rack of River's dresses — the Doctor had protested when she brought them in, but well, River was River. Once he was freed, John demanded he be told in full what had gone on.

After Sherlock had convinced the Doctor that he (and, by extension, John) should come along, the Doctor had decided to show off his maneuvering skills by picking John up, bed and all. It only took two tries — the first time, he got the dresser, and landed it in the swimming pool — but he was able to manage it.

Sherlock hadn't said much at all while he was in the TARDIS, except to ask the Doctor to let him fly it (he said no), and to reassure John that no, this was not an alien abduction, yes, they were perfectly safe, and yes, _of course _it was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. He had found the library very quickly, and upon the Doctor's recommendation, had started thumbing through a collection by some author named Doyle.

"Alright, Johnny boy! Let's have a look at a new universe, shall we?" The Doctor jumped up from behind the console, pulling John to his feet from where he had been sitting, and threw the doors open. "The Milky Way! From the outside. Pretty close to home, well, as close as you can get in a parallel universe. We'll be on Earth in, ooh, about five minutes."

"So you're just taking us back home?" John asked, curious in spite of his frustration at not having any say about going.

"I suppose you could call it that," the Doctor replied, turning back to the console to adjust the controls.

John stood in the doorway for a few moments more, gazing at the admittedly beautiful view before him. Then, a grin coming to his face, he turned to the Doctor and remarked, "You know, Sherlock doesn't even care to know that the Earth goes round the Sun. Why would he ever want to go flying across the universe in a box?"

The Doctor smiled, but gave no answer. John turned back to the doors, looking out one more time before shutting them. As he did so, the TARDIS lurched, sending both of them sprawling. John clung to the railing, thinking to himself that he was glad he'd been asleep earlier during the "extremely turbulent" part of the flight, since this seemed to be standard procedure. He watched the Doctor leaping around the console until the ship settled to a stop.

"Are we here then?" John ventured.

"Yep. Baker Street, London. My London. Well, it's not _mine_, I'm not even from Earth, none of them, not even the New New one, did meet some lovely cats there though–"

At this moment, Sherlock interrupted, appearing from the doorway behind them. "Have you ever considered anchoring those shelves down, Doctor?" he asked, smiling very unconvincingly.

John spotted the slight limp in his left leg instantly — for all Sherlock's excellence at masking the few emotions he did have, he was terrible at hiding injuries. He insisted he was fine, but John wouldn't take it. The Doctor directed him to the medbay, or at least where it was last he knew, grinning as he watched them bicker their way out of sight.

Just then, the Doctor's attention was caught by a ringing sound, coming from his jacket pocket. He fumbled for the phone, read the number displayed on the screen, then frowned and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Doctor! Good to hear your voice again."

"_Jack_? This is Martha's old phone. How'd _you_ get the number?"

"Remember, Doctor, we had every phone in the country calling you back when the Earth got stolen. It wasn't hard for Torchwood to keep the number."

"Alright, fine, good point. How long's it been for you, anyway? A few months? Years?"

"Seven months. How about you?"

"One day."

"Donna?"

"Gone."

There was a pause.

"Doctor?"

No reply.

"It's the Cybermen, Doctor. Some of them slipped through the rift a couple weeks ago, and we think they've set up somewhere near London. We can't find them, though, none of our equipment can."

"Ohh, and I was having a good day, too… Where are you right now?"

"Driving, about forty minutes from London. We've set up a temporary base there. And by my readings, you're on … Baker Street?"

"Yeah, I was going to do a little sightseeing with Sherlock Holmes, and the TARDIS needs a bit of a break. Could you pick us up here?"

"Wait, what? Sherlock Holmes?"

"Long story."

"Right. I'm on my way."

"Who was that?" John asked, coming back into the console room. Sherlock followed, still limping slightly and looking disgruntled. The Doctor grinned. "An old friend. He'll be meeting us here in about an hour. In the meantime, how does the Sherlock Holmes Museum sound?"

An hour later, Sherlock was sitting, sulking, on the steps inside the TARDIS doors, John and the Doctor standing outside. They had had to forcibly remove him from the museum, after he pointed out that two of the staff were having affairs, one was a closeted lesbian, and that the Watson impersonator was a criminal on the run. The Doctor had barely managed to have the police not brought down on them using his psychic paper —Sherlock's insistence that it was blank had not helped — and he was starting to regret bringing them here.

A small black car pulled up to the curb a short way down the road from them, leaving the Doctor no time to muse. "Stay here a minute," he told John, then walked briskly off toward the car. John squinted at the man climbing out, trying to see what he could figure out before Sherlock got to him. _Average height, long blue coat, military stride, but somehow not military…_

"So, Doctor, you're saying you've got the genuine Sherlock Holmes with you?" John overheard the two men talking as they walked back toward him.

"Oho, but that's not all. Jack, Sherlock Holmes has —" here the Doctor cupped his hand and whispered something into Jack's ear; Jack stepped back, shock on his face. "You don't think he's —" he returned.

"No, it wouldn't be. He's dead, burnt and gone."

Now they had reached the TARDIS. Sherlock stood up, surveying the visitor. _Lives in Cardiff, but American originally. Probably bi- or pan-sexual. Human, but has a non-terrestrial weapon in his coat. Eyes are old, very old but jovial. Skin on the face is much too smooth and clean for a man who works with machines and weapons as much as his hands show. Can afford extensive plastic surgery? doesn't dress like it — somehow immortal…?_

"So I'm told I'm speaking to Sherlock Holmes?" Jack asked, offering his hand. Sherlock nodded, giving a halfhearted smile, still trying to work out what this man was. "Are you immortal?" he asked, confused (and thereby uncomfortable) enough to avoid all semblance of common courtesy.

"Ha! He's good!" Jack exclaimed, grinning. "Yes. Accidentally. Killed him in the process—" he gestured to the Doctor "—but everything worked out for the better."

"Hey, I rather liked that face." The Doctor pretended to be hurt. Sherlock chuckled.

Once they had gotten everything made clear to John — yes, both the Doctor and Jack were immortal — (clear as mud, he thought) and the TARDIS had gotten back to full power again, Jack explained the situation.

"Right, so there are Cybermen somewhere near London, Doctor, and even Torchwood's technology can't find them. We know there were only about twenty that slipped through the Rift two weeks ago, and there haven't been any suspiciously missing persons from the area, so we doubt they've added to their band. Can you find them with the TARDIS?"

Before the Doctor could answer, he heard a familiar tramping sound coming up the sidewalk toward them. Jack gave him a look — _I'll take this one —_ the Doctor nodded, quickly pushing Sherlock and John behind him up the stairs, further into the TARDIS.

_Delete. Delete. Deleeeete_

Jack slumped to the floor, electrocuted by the fist of the metal thing in the doorway.

_You are the Doctor._

_You will come with me._


	3. A Watch

((AN: Sorry this took so long to get up! I've been crazy busy with school recently. Also, if Cpt. Jack seems OOC, it's because I have practically no knowledge of _Torchwood_ canon: I've only seen his appearances in _Doctor Who_, and am basing his character here from that.))

_TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON  
><em>_16:48  
><em>_Just go ahead and leave me here yeah that sounds like a good idea_

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_16:49  
><em>_Why are you texting me? I was standing next to you fifty-three seconds ago.  
><em>_SH_

_TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON  
><em>_16:49  
><em>_Well you're not now are you_

_TEXT FROM: SHERLOCK HOLMES  
><em>_16:49  
><em>_Excellent deduction, John.  
><em>_SH_

_TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON  
><em>_16:50  
><em>_Bastard._

John, his medical instinct overriding his instinct to follow the detective, had stayed in the TARDIS, dropping to check the stranger's pulse (Jack? he thought his name was? they were never properly introduced). As he watched Sherlock and the Doctor's backs disappear down the sidewalk away from him, he realized he didn't know what on Earth he was doing.

What on Earth. He smiled wryly. He wasn't quite sure he was on Earth, though it definitely felt right; but what was he doing, inside a box that didn't make any sense, gripping the wrist of a dead stranger who had just been electrocuted by a … Cyberman? and they had been talking as if it were real, an alien of some sort …

His musings were disturbed by a gasp from beneath him. He looked down, wondering if his ears had deceived him.

They hadn't. The man on the floor was breathing heavily, looking at him with a positively face-splitting grin. "Bloody hell, what did I miss this time," John muttered.

"Captain Jack Harkness." The stranger twisted his wrist in John's grip into some sort of handshake. "Immortal, yeah?" That grin again.

John sighed, then moved over so they were both sitting on the floor. "So what exactly are we doing here, and what are they doing just running off with that thing?"

"Well, the Doctor's never been able to resist running off with the bad guys. That's why he keeps people around, I guess, to get him out of all the trouble he gets himself into," Jack answered.

John snorted. "Sounds like Sherlock."

"How long have you two been traveling with him, then?" Jack asked.

"Just since last night. He crashed into our flat through the window, and Sherlock insisted that we go off with him."

Jack chuckled. "I suppose he took to the whole time-and-space-travelling in a bigger-on-the-inside wooden box pretty well."

"Yeah, like always," John replied, scratching his head. "I still don't understand most of it."

"So you're a military man, then?"

"Oh, don't tell me you're like that too," John groaned.

"What?"

"Sherlock. He can look at you once and tell you your entire life story. It gets pretty irritating if you hang around him long enough."

Jack laughed. "No, I'm nothing like that. I just noticed the gun in your hand."

John looked down, unaware that he had instinctively pulled his pistol out of his coat pocket when the Cyberman had confronted them. He grinned sheepishly, tucking it back in.

* * *

><p>The Doctor and Sherlock had been led by the Cyberman into a vacant shopfront several streets over, then left there while it disappeared into a room in the back. They could hear the tramping of several more of the metal men faintly through the walls, but it seemed they had been left on their own for the time being.<p>

Sherlock brushed some dead beetles off the counter and sat down on it. "Tell me about this," he instructed the Doctor, handing over the object he had produced earlier.

The Doctor took it, furrowing his brow as he held it up into the afternoon light. It was both what he expected and what he hoped it wasn't: a small silver fob-watch with Gallifreyan symbols etched onto its cover, symbols even the TARDIS would not translate. He remembered the two times he had seen this technique used before, once by his own self and once by his rival, the Master, neither of which had turned out spectacularly well.

He looked up at Sherlock, certain that he had more questions than the detective did, and almost certainly several that neither of them would have answers to. "Right, then. For starters, can you tell me exactly what you know about this?"

Sherlock leaned forward, elbows on knees, and looked up at the Doctor. "I know its technology derives from the same source as your TARDIS, as the symbols etched on it are the same script as those found within your ship. Judging by the reaction you've had to it previously and the familiarity with which you have held it just now, I know you know what it is. I know that it is particularly difficult for me and only me to keep my attention focused on it, but anyone else that sees it seems to have no such difficulty, so it would follow that I am not meant to know that it exists."

The Doctor rubbed his face. "You're definitely right about that, you are not meant to know that it exists. It's called a perception filter, the thing that hides it from you, and normally the person that owns the watch shouldn't even care that it exists. You are clever enough, though — Have you ever tried opening it?"

"Yes, but it hasn't let me open it."

"Right, obviously, since you still have it. A fob watch, anyway, is a way that Time Lords — that's what I am, by the way, a Time Lord — can completely rewrite their biology, make them human and give them a human life and constructed memories, whilst making them forget who they were before and shielding itself from them so they have no desire to open it. Opening the watch reverts the owner back into a Time Lord and restores their memory."

"So I'm a Time Lord." If Sherlock was surprised, he didn't let on; his tone was as flat and emotionless as ever.

"Well, basically, yes."

"I was seven years old when I was changed, then. That explains why I have no clear memories before that age." Sherlock stood up and snatched the watch out of the Doctor's hand. He held it up to his face and moved his finger to the spring. He could sense the energy pulsing through it, begging to be set free — _release me, let me go, I am ready_ —

A few blocks away, Jack and John were walking quickly down the sidewalk, following a signal on a small radio-like device that Jack said could track the Doctor.

_Beep … beep … beep-beep … beep-beep … beep-beep …_

Jack stopped, holding the device up and shaking it. "That's not right," he muttered.

"Hmm?"

"There's a second signal."


	4. A Change

((Hello! I still don't own either show or their characters! Also, be warned: this chapter contains a smidge of strong language. Avert your eyes, children.))

_TEXT FROM: DOCTOR  
><em>_17:34  
><em>_Have you tracked me?_

_TEXT FROM: JACK HARKNESS  
><em>_17:35  
><em>_yeah. we're just a couple blocks away._

_TEXT FROM: JACK HARKNESS  
><em>_17:35  
><em>_i'm getting two signals though?_

_TEXT FROM: DOCTOR  
><em>_17:36  
><em>_Sherlock opened his watch. He isn't taking it too well. bring John_

_TEXT FROM: DOCTOR  
><em>_17:37  
><em>_Also, the Cybermen seem to be getting hostile. Hurry up_

Jack frowned, then snorted in what could have been amusement — if he wasn't also concerned and frustrated with his friend's, and, he guessed, probably Sherlock's, apparent total failure to grasp the concept of 'being careful'. He glanced over at John, who had accepted the job of carrying the bulky transmitter that he had brought along to take out the metal men (for machines built specifically to be resistant to any and every bullet and blast, they were almost pathetically susceptible to simple things like electricity and magnetism, when used the right way). It wasn't going to do them any good if they didn't get a move on, though.

Jack thought a moment, deciding what to say that would least alarm the poor man, finally settling on "D'you think you can run with that?" John nodded a short "Yes", and shifted the device to a more comfortable position, hugging it against his chest with his right arm, before quickening his pace.

The two men ran, nearly matching strides, as Jack briefly explained to John what the Doctor had texted him. He refrained from mentioning the watch, figuring either the Doctor or Sherlock, whatever he was now, would most likely have a better way of putting it clearly; saying only that something might have happened to Sherlock, but the Doctor hadn't been very clear. That _was_ true, anyway.

They slowed as they reached the row of run-down shops and as the beeping on Jack's tracker grew to its loudest and quickest, signaling that its target was down to only a few meters away. Jack relieved John of the transmitter, carrying it the last few steps before setting it down on the pavement and unfolding some very scientific-looking parts.

John, having been motioned to go ahead, entered the building cautiously, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dimly lit room. He thought it was empty at first, but his trained ears picked up the sound of breathing from the corner opposite him. Feeling his way toward the sound, he frowned as he saw the outline of the figure — hunched up, facing the wall — and recognized who it was.

"Sherlock?"

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Sherlock stood motionless, holding the watch in front of his face, noting somewhere in the back of his mind that the golden tendrils of light curling around it and the whispering voice speaking to him from it should probably both be hallucinations.

It was also curious, that same part in the back of his mind told him, how his mind and body were completely being taken over by the little pocket watch. He couldn't — wouldn't? — see anything but the watch, couldn't hear anything but its whispers, and couldn't feel anything but the slow, slow tightening of the muscles in his right thumb, pulling it down, finding and pressing the latch —

and then there was the light, the soft, warm, almost tangible light, flowing from the watch and engulfing him, filling him, flooding his mind until the only thing he could feel was the blinding numbness of having every cell and fiber of his body and mind being rewritten —

and then he was on the floor, clutching his head as his brain was forced to completely reorganize itself: his 'mind palace', so painstakingly organized, now in ruins, with the memories of a seven-year-old Time Lord and the consciousness of an adult one thrown in on top of it. He tried desperately to wade through the mess and find that one little part of his mind that was always _fine_, that was always rational even through the highs of a great deduction or the lows of utter boredom — but it wasn't there, _it wasn't there_ and he was lost and he couldn't _think_ —

The Doctor had stood transfixed, struggling to handle the assault on his senses as the Time Lord essence flowed from the watch into the detective, but as soon as it had finished he was immediately aware of two very important things: one, that a Cyberman had re-entered the room and was demanding his compliance for something; and two, that Sherlock was not taking the transformation very well at all, now slumped back against the counter with his head in his hands. He managed to half-carry, half-drag the poor man into the far corner, before reluctantly turning to follow the Cyberman.

A few minutes later, Sherlock had managed to order his mind somewhat, shoving most everything aside to be dealt with later and allowing himself a little room to think. He heard a voice behind him, a softly hissed word; he whirled to face it, backing defensively into the corner like a frightened animal, until he finally caught up with himself, recognizing and matching the voice and the face —

John would never have expected such a violent reaction out of Sherlock. The man jumped and flung himself back like a frightened animal, one hand clutching his head and one thrown defensively out in front of him. Then Sherlock's face changed, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, and John found himself suddenly on the floor with a gangly ball of whimpering detective clutching at his jacket and trying to crawl into his lap. He had never seen Sherlock let himself be this vulnerable and raw before, so he figured something had to be very, very wrong.

The Doctor and Jack found them that way, John sitting with his back to the wall and Sherlock curled up into him, apparently having fallen asleep there. Jack would have taken a picture, had the Doctor not dragged him away to help take care of the dozen metal men in the other room — and by 'take care of', he meant dump into the Sun.

By the time they had finished, brought the TARDIS back and gotten Sherlock into the medbay for the second time that day, John was flat-out furious. The minute they were out of the sleeping detective's earshot, he whirled on the Doctor, slamming him into the side of the TARDIS corridor.

"What the _hell_ have you done to Sherlock?" he shouted. "And don't you dare try lying to me. That man was scared out of his _fucking _mind back there!"

The Doctor pushed John away gently, allowing himself room to breathe, before pulling the now-ordinary fob watch out of his jacket pocket and handing it over. "Do you, by any chance, know what this is?"

"It's a broken watch. Sherlock keeps it on the mantel. What does it have to do with anything?"

The Doctor took the watch back, running his thumb over the Gallifreyan circles on its cover. "You see, my people, the Time Lords, they created a way to rewrite every single cell in their body, to change a Time Lord completely into a human, without even the memory of who they had been before — and the Time Lord part of them gets kept inside a little watch, like this one."

He could almost see the cogs turning in John's mind. "Now Sherlock, he was only a kid when he got turned human, a seven-year-old Time Lord, hadn't developed any of his adult senses yet — but the watch is smart, it adjusts for age. So when he opened it just now, not only did it have to integrate into his mind what he remembered from being a kid, but also what he should know by being an adult —"

"Hang on. You're saying, you turned Sherlock into an alien?"

The Doctor rubbed his cheek. "Well, not exactly, but more or less, yeah."

Then John's left fist connected with his jaw and his right fist with his skull, and everything went black.


	5. Author's Note: A Hiatus

Hello! This isn't a chapter (sorry!), just an author's note for the people who have been following this story. Unfortunately, a lot of things have come up in my life recently, not the least of which being the end of the school year and getting ready to move halfway across the country, which have left me no time to devote to writing. So I'm putting this story **on hiatus** for a couple of months, hopefully to resume updating near the beginning of July.

Thanks for your patience! ^_^


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